How Do You Feel
by Chibizoo
Summary: A song-fic based on Malik's childhood, about a legacy, a knife, and pain. Absolute, sadistic pain.


Author's notes:  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-gi-oh. Can you imagine what would happen if I did?  
  
Sorry. Just writing this to satisfy my sadistic drive. If you want to retain a healthy   
mind, don't read this.  
  
Warning: You know that scene in Malik's childhood where he gets his back carved   
with hieroglyphs? Yeah. _That_ scene.   
  
**" Parts of song "**  
  
**************************************  
  
How Does It Feel  
  
  
  
  
"Hold still!"  
  
It was coming. He vainly tried to turn his head towards it, chancing to see the   
flash of a gleaming knife. And through all his screams, shouts, and protests, only a   
whisper of sound escaped the handkerchief tying his mouth. It gagged his protests,   
dirty fabric mixing with his saliva to create an acrid, dry taste.   
  
**"How does it feel  
To treat me like you do?  
When you laid hands upon me  
And told me who you are?"**  
  
His soft, tanned back was perfectly exposed, prickling with sensitivity. There   
was a moment of dreaded anticipation, where he could feel the shadow of the knife   
slowly touch his back, and he involuntarily shuddered.   
  
Just when the tension seemed unbearable, it came, slicing down straight into   
his skin without even a moment's mercy. The blade dug deeply into his back, delving   
into his flesh, carving his skin, unrelenting in its massacre.   
  
Now, he could feel the blood trickling down his back, mixing with more   
blood, creating livid streaks of the crimson liquid against his sensitive skin. But most   
of all was the pain. The knife wouldn't stop dancing, continuing its plight, bringing   
with it a sense of overwhelming agony.   
  
His back was on fire! He wanted to scream, to thrash, to roll over in agony:   
anything to escape the pain. It was a merciless pain, bearing down harshly with sharp,   
stinging swipes.   
  
Hot tears rolled down his eyes as he continued to mutely protest, large blue-  
violet eyes looking at the tormenter. And yet, this other, this familiar, loved other,   
would not stop. The other would not stop the blinding pain.   
  
**"I thought I was mistaken  
I thought I heard your words  
Tell me, how do I feel  
Tell me now, how do I feel?"**  
  
Tears continued to dribble endlessly down his chin, expressing his silent   
anguish. They brimmed and flooded harder as the knife swung down again, curving a   
blinding path up and down his back.   
  
He tried to move his tied hands and squirm away from the pain. Useless - it   
was all useless. The intoxicating throbs lanced through his body, wrenching his heart   
and mind into a vortex of misery.   
  
He couldn't think.  
  
He couldn't feel.  
  
He couldn't understand.   
  
The pain had him. Each twist of the blade left him shivering and buckling   
weakly, mind filled with only a desire to stop, to banish the hurts.   
  
The blood had now trickled down his back, dripping onto the floor in silent   
patters. Some still slid, slowly easing down his legs to get caught in the stifled,   
sweating fabric.   
  
**"Those who came before me  
Lived through their vocations  
From the past until completion  
They'll turn away no more"**  
  
There were still his pleading eyes. Large, innocent, childish eyes that did not   
understand. Why would his beloved father do this? Why would his father let him   
suffer so?  
  
The pain gave no answers. It served only to cut and tear at his young, slender   
body, just as relentless. His back was beginning to bruise now, collecting into   
throbbing, pulsating clumps, always stinging in acidic revulsion. The cuts were   
horribly exposed, recoiling from the air, prickling against his back like a million   
needles.   
  
And still, he didn't understand.   
  
Why?  
  
More hot tears collected on his fair chin, streaking his tanned face a darker   
brown. He thought that his father had _loved_ him.   
  
But it hurt - oh! It hurt so much. His mind shrieked, brought to the climax of   
pain. A million drums were pounding in his head, contorting their sound in erratic   
vibrations.  
  
Someone make it stop!  
  
Make it stop!  
  
**"And I still find it so hard  
To say what I need to say  
But I'm quite sure that you'll tell me  
Just how I should feel today"**  
  
At last, mind numb from shock, he faltered, breaking from his concentration   
of pain into a lapse of silence. His youthful, struggling body fell limp. The pain would   
not go away. It was unavoidable. It was inevitable.   
  
Yes, his glassy eyes still gazed accusingly at the other, but they were futile   
glares, ones robbed of their vigour and faith. He was fighting a loosing struggle   
against an all-powerful force.   
  
The knife was still dancing. It was a perpetual machine - a symbol of a desire   
he could never obtain.   
  
What had it felt like before the pain? He couldn't remember. It hurt too much   
- it was all over his back, inside his heart, part of his mind. The pain was a part of   
him.   
  
**"I see a ship in the harbour  
I can and shall obey  
But if it wasn't for your misfortune  
I'd be a heavenly person today"**  
  
"Stop crying."  
  
It was a direct command. Numbly, still shivering, he willed himself to silence   
his tears. At first, they refused to listen, watery orbs continuing to flow freely against   
their sleek trails. Slowly, enforced by the grating demand of the knife, they stopped,   
afraid, unable to rebel against the pain.   
  
He whimpered again, the cloth in his mouth wet with saliva. The foul odour   
was forced harder into his mouth and he nearly gagged, moving his jaw to allow room   
for the offending fabric.   
  
Suddenly, the pain disappeared.   
  
It was over, a moment of absolute glory. The grinding, cutting, stinging   
sensation had disappeared, replaced by a blanket of absolute, numb bliss. He almost   
sighed in relief. This moment of absolute Nirvana - how could anything feel this   
wonderful?  
  
But it was an illusion. His back still throbbed, many cuts lashing against the   
other, wailing their misery and exposed discontent. His mind had simply been   
overwhelmed by the multitude of demands and shut down.   
  
And then, the knife danced again.   
  
**"And I thought I was mistaken  
And I thought I heard you speak  
Tell me how do I feel  
Tell me now, how should I feel?"**  
  
Agony was a material word, as was pain. In order to reach perfection, one   
must forget about such material, concrete feelings and move to a higher order of bliss.   
  
Those were the lies that he had been fed. And now, only now, did he realize   
exactly how false they sounded. They were all hollow lies to reassure the uncertain, to   
convert the weak, to prey upon the unsuspected.   
  
It was too late now. The knife had already begun its dance.  
  
**"How do you feel?  
How should I feel?  
How would you feel?  
Tell me now, how should I feel."**  
  
Everything was an illusion. The only real thing in the world was the pain. It   
was pain that dominated every instinct and thought, breaking the pattern of orderly   
reasoning and willing the body to listen to its demands.   
  
It was the pain that screamed an order, forcefully enslaving those who   
opposed it, breaking their wills bit by bit.   
  
The knife was still dancing.   
  
**"Now I stand here waiting...  
I thought I told you to leave me  
While I walked down to the beach"**  
  
At first, the voice only whispered to him, a bit of release from the pain. He had   
thought it had been part of his own protesting mind, but it was different. The voice   
disobeyed the pain.   
  
Slowly, he turned his conscious attention towards the source, vainly trying to   
locate it. It had been such a blissful sensation, a temporary wall against the agony. It   
commanded and he obeyed, all too eager to escape the pain. Anything to escape the   
pain.   
  
The knife danced, but it was distant.   
  
**"Tell me how does it feel  
When your heart grows cold?"**  
  
He let the Darkness take him. And it was all good. He had been set free by the   
Darkness.   
  
Slowly, he closed his eyes, willing the Darkness to banish the pain.   
  
Willing the Darkness to take over his mind.   
  
**"How does it feel?  
How would you feel?  
Tell me how do you feel  
To treat me like you do?"**  
  
  
And he laughed.   
  
  
**"How does it feel?  
How would you feel?  
Tell me how do you feel  
To treat me like you do?"**  
  
**********************************  
  
End notes:  
  
Song used is called "Blue Monday", by New Order. It's been on my mind for quite a   
while now.  
  
You have not read this. I did not write this. *nods* Mmm hmm... 


End file.
